The Trial
by Kara D
Summary: In a scheme of revenge, a ghost of Spike's past captures, tortures, and ensouls Spike. Returning to Sunnydale, Spike need's help. Can Buffy save him?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: They belong to Joss, but I can dream, right? Ha! Everyone but Rollocks is Joss', I made him and his name sounds like 'bollocks'! J This was written after watching Saw II four million times the night before.

Sunnydale, June 15, 2002

3:34 PM

A dark shadow covered the wall of Spike's crypt as he tried to sleep. His vampire senses aware, he still was not fast enough to see what it was before he was consumed by total darkness.

Spike's eyes peeled open. His joints ached for a reason he did not know. Jerking forward, he heard the jostling of metal shackles. "Bloody typical." he mumbled under his breath. Someone was walking outside of where ever he was. The footsteps grew closer until the abruptly stopped only feet ahead. Spike tried to see in the pitch-black space, but could not. Suddenly, the lights buzzed and the fluorescent glow filled the white room. An older man, around Giles' age stepped forward and smirked.

"I see you're awake." he moved closer, "This is going to be an interesting friendship." the man continued.

"Who the bloody hell are you and where am I?" Spike growled. His blue eyes were filled with anger. The man swiftly leapt at him and ran a knife through his side. Spike screamed in pain.

"I believe it would be wise for you to keep quiet during my introduction!" he growled. "I am Alfred Rollocks. It is nice to be in your acquaintance." Twisting the blade at a 360-degree angle caused Spike to yelp in agony.

Rollocks pulled back and laughed. Spike glared at him in fury. "Where am I?"

"Congratulations, you've entered the Trial." Rollocks whispered.

"What trial?" Spike asked in a low tone. A blonde curl fell across the top of his forehead. Red ooze saturated the top of his black denim jeans. Rollocks stepped aside and pulled a TV monitor into sight. Pointing to the screen, he smiled.

He turned on the television and it showed a hospital bed. Someone was laying in it. Buffy.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Spike asked. A cold sound was caught in his voice.

"Let me explain this to you. Your precious Slayer has been given a highly toxic magical solution that will eventually drain her life force. Her soul will be destroyed and sent to oblivion. Never to find peace or happiness." Rollocks continued, "This is your chance for redemption. Once in a lifetime chance. All you have to do is go through a few simple tests."

Spike was close to tears, "What has she done to deserve this? She's innocent!" he yelled. Rollocks kept eye contact and dug his hand into Spike's open wound.

"Didn't we have discussion about interrupting?" Rollocks asked. Spike made a gurgle noise at the base of his throat. "I didn't get to the best part. If you do not, she will die and I will make you watch. Do you want that?" he questioned.

Horrified, Spike closed his eyes. "What do I have to do?"

"There's the William the Bloody I knew.' What do I have to do?' That sounds familiar doesn't it?" Rollocks asked. Spike looked at him in confusion and then realized what he had just said.

Prague, October 12, 1902

8:56 PM

Spike threw the girl onto the floor and laughed. Her small cries were drowned by Drusilla constant chatter. "The moon sings a symphony, my sweet Spike."

"Dru, can we stop with the nonsense?" Spike asked in frustration. Drusilla had been up to something all night. Her black ringlets were draped across her fragile shoulders. The black dress that covered them was sewn with lace and silk. Spike had never seen her more beautiful. "I have things to take care of." he growled as the bridge of his nose widened and grotesque features covered his face. A wicked snarl escaped his mouth as he bit into the girl lying in the corner.

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the small cabin. The young girl pleaded, "Please, no! What do I have to do? Plea..." her body fell limp on the wooden floor as a handsome man cried out for his daughter.

Spike walked towards him and wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth with a cocky smile. "Now. Where is the book, mate?"

"Why?" he asked. Spike chuckled and squatted next to him.

"Oh, don't blame me! I asked you fairly. It isn't my fault that you couldn't hold your end of the bargain." Spike said. The man had a tear fall down the side of his face. "Don't turn on the water works!" Spike yelled.

Spike stared at the man for minutes. Finally, after having enough, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted outward. He screamed in excruciating pain, "Okay! No more. The book is in the cupboard. Just don't hurt me anymore."

"Thank you. Now...say pretty please." Spike grinned.

Sunnydale

"I remember you." Spike whispered. "The book of Tarturas. I killed you." he added.

Rollocks smiled. "Apparently, I didn't stay dead." The images on the monitor started to move. Buffy was sitting up. "Well, let's take us in for a closer look, shall we?"

The camera zoomed in and stopped on Buffy's face. Sores had started to form on her neck. Dark circles were growing under her eyes and her hair was matted to one side. She let out a cough.

Willow came to sit next to her. Holding her hand, Willow said something. Spike could not hear it because there was no audio. Buffy started to cry.

Spike glared at Rollocks, "Let her out of this! I can't watch her die!" Spike yelled.

Rollocks hit him across the jaw and looked back at the screen. Spike tossed the shackles above him and screamed. He turned to Spike and snarled. "Now say pretty please!"

Spike hung his head and sighed. "If I do the tests...you can save her?" he asked. Rollocks nodded.

4:22 PM

Spike closed his eyes. The chains holding him to the wall disappeared. Pulling his arms down, he stretched them out. A deep growl bellowed from behind him. "A fight now, is it?" Spike asked. He turned around in awe. A large demon borrowed out from the wall separating him and the next step to saving Buffy. "I expect a weapon of some sort." he suggested. A sword fell onto the ground beside him. "Fabulous!" Spike commented.

The demon waved his large arms over his head and let out a shrill battle cry that shot through Spike's ears, almost causing him to fall to the ground. His eardrums rang as the demon charged. Dodging the first attack, Spike managed to cut a small piece of the giant's arm. Spinning in a full circle, Spike was hit with a large club attached to the demon's hand. "Bloody hell!"

"How is he doing?" the Immortal asked. Rollocks smiled and nodded. "He is doing very well for the circumstances." he answered.

Spike growled and swung a closed fist at the demon's head landing a blow. "You call that a fight, you ponce?" The demon kicked Spike in the head, causing him to fall to the ground in delirium. "Ow."

The sword was gripped firmly in his hand as he sent it flying across the room, only to hit the demon in the center of its skull. Crumpling to the ground, the demon squalled. Spike brushed off his bare chest and looked at Rollocks. "Next step."

6; 45 PM

"Ah!" Spike yelled as the metal bar tied to his leg began to twist.

"Do you wish for me to stop?" he asked. Spike gave Rollocks a look of hatred and stared at the ceiling. The past few hours have been a nightmare having to watch Buffy lay in pain. Rollocks had not started any of the tests that had been mentioned. Glancing at the glowing screen, Spike saw Buffy start to twitch.

"What-what is happening?" Spike choked. Her small figure began to toss and turn-He looked at her mouth and saw the words 'Help'

"Ah, yes. The solution has begun to settle into her nervous system. Should only be a matter of a day, maybe, before she is left a vegetable." Rollocks said casually.

Spike cried out, "Test me! Do what ever it bloody takes to save her! Just---", he was cut off by a sudden blow to the side of his head. That does not usually knockout a vampire only hurt a bit. The room started to swirl and Rollocks began to grow blurry.

Spike started to come to. He coughed and tried to turn his head, until he realized that he was tied to something. Again. Shifting his eyes around the room, he saw what was to be the most decked out torture room available on the green Earth. Metal springs and sharp instruments lay set out according to size on the table next to him. Blood still sat dried on the ends of most of them. He was scared. One of the few times he would ever admit it, he was scared. Rollocks came from behind an iron door holding what looked like a copper rope. Giving him a look of pity, Rollocks smiled, "Are you ready?"

Spike glared at him, "Let's just get this over with." he growled. Rollocks pulled a chair beside him and sat down. Spike watched him closely. "Bring the telly." Spike whispered.

Rollocks looked every bit surprised at what he said. "Alright.", he said snapping his fingers. A masked man came in with a console and flipped the screen open.

"Portable?" Spike asked. Rollocks grinned. "I had to have some entertainment while you were asleep."

"You sick fuck!" Spike yelled in anger. The thought of someone getting any part of amusement at Buffy's expense sickened him. Although, years ago, he would have made a bag of popcorn, but not now, the though of her in pain made him queasy,, even after the pain he went through…because of _her._ Spike fought at the restraints holding him down and an unsmiling Rollocks tsked.

"Spike, we have spoken about the trying to escape. There will not be any of it tolerated! Now stay still _or _your lover dies." He smiled, sending chills down Spike's back. He had to comply or Buffy would die and it really would be his fault.

Sunnydale Hospital- ICU

6:50 pm

Willow held Buffy's hand while she slept. Suddenly, the Slayer squirmed in her sleep, she was having a nightmare. Willow ran her thumb over Buffy's hand in an attempt to comfort her, but it was not working at all, "Buffy, it's just a dream." She whispered.

Buffy opened her eyes slowly, tears building at the sides, "Willow…" The red head looked at her, "Is he here?" Buffy glanced at the clock and registered that is was sunset, allowing Spike to make it to the hospital without exploding into ash. The Wicca shook her head, "No, no one has heard from him since, well, your birthday party." Buffy closed her eyes again, a lone teardrop fell from her eye, sliding down her face and soaking into the white hospital pillow. Willow felt a pang of sadness for Buffy. She had noticed something going on between Spike and Buffy for quite some time now. Her asking for him while she was sick was a wake up call.

Willow sighed, "I'm sorry, Buffy. But if you like, Xander can run over to his crypt and get him." Buffy opened her eyes once again, letting several more tears fall.

"Please. I…need him."

Torture-ville

7:00 pm

The screams were echoing through the stone room, bursting Rollocks eardrums and causing a ringing in his ears. The stake went deeper into Spike's shoulder, leaving splinters stuck in the skin, "Well, that was fantastic!"

Spike opened his eyes, glaring at the bastard, "So Jeeves, how many was that?" Spike managed to cough out. Rollocks laughed, pulling a lever on the wall closest to him, bringing down a large wheel covered in blood, big enough for a human to fit on.

"William, I'm afraid we've only begun."

End

A/N: Continue? I don't know if it's good enough to get a chapter two, but if you lot like it and would like to read more, send a review and I'll be more than happy to get it out for you. The fans!! If I get no reviews, this old story will get dusty. Don't need a philosophy on the chapter, I just would like to hear, "I want to read more. Write a chapter two…bitch." I love those!! J Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is good news people! I have fit all of the torture into this chapter. I felt that it should all be in one big package and not extended anymore than it needed to be. Sorry for the long gap between the update. If you like, leave a review and I can update about every two days! Does that sound good?

Chapter Two

"Is that… all you've got?" Spike groaned as Rollocks extracted the wooden shards from beneath his fingernails. "I've had… worse."

"Oh really? The Big Bad isn't satisfied, eh?" Rollocks cackled then resumed the painful operation, "This is only the preliminaries, wait until you meet my good friend, Iron Maiden."

"An American rock band?" Spike scoffed at the notion, "Hardly torture."

"Nope, not a rock band, it's not American either," he laughed again, "Don't worry; you won't have to wait much longer. Just a few more little 'tests'."

After finishing removing the reeds from Spike's nail beds, he retrieved a long nine-tailed whip. Something metallic glinted in the dim light of the dungeon.

"Now this beauty is one of my favorites," he brandished the cruel item and smiled sinisterly.

Spike's eyes grew wide, _a cat o' nine tails._ His fingertips were still pouring crimson droplets, but the small pain was ignored as two men came in from either side of the bloodied vampire and turned him about, forcing him to double over, exposing his smooth alabaster back. As Rollocks raised the weapon, Spike braced himself for the oncoming rain of hurt. The whip came down hard and fast, raking across the tender flesh, tearing through mercilessly. He bit back the urge to spin around and rend the offender senseless. _No, it's for…Buffy… I've got to go through with it…_ His body tensed for the next blow and the one after that, and after that as well, until he could not take the pain from innumerable floggings, causing Spike's head to spin from the loss of blood. _How much longer?_ He screamed mentally, not daring to open his mouth.

Finally, the beatings ended and the two lackeys flipped him to face his assailant. A pained glare was set on the hulking figure, marring his bruised and bleeding face. His ice-blue eyes scorned the man with all the willpower left in Spike's body. His knuckles clenched, causing a surge of pain to shoot through his hands and up into his forearms.

"So, how did that make you feel?" the attacker sneered as the two men retreated into the darkness.

"Like biting you," Spike growled with his teeth firmly clenched.

The aggressor motioned for his subordinates to return to Spike's sides. They lifted him back onto the wheel and strapped him on, stretching out his painful limbs. Blood streamed down his back, pooling on the floor beneath him. Slowly the wheel turned him upside down.

Two Days Later 

Spike's head fell forward as the wheel turned him upright once again.

"You feel asleep," Rollocks' teeth flashed in the painful light, there was a fire burning brightly behind him.

"Seemed like the thing to do," Spike readjusted himself, trying to get a little more leverage on the wheel, "Being upside down and all."

"Well, I suppose it's just as well," he was holding a silver, cross shaped branding iron and rubbing it with his thumb, "You might not be able to sleep for a while."

"And why's that?" he spit out a bit of blood on the floor.

"You'll see," the sadist turned away from him and placed the crucifix in the blaze. "Do you know why silver is preferred for branding irons?"

Spike faintly shook his head no.

"It makes a sharper scar," he replied, "Not that _you'll_ need to worry about scarring. Got to rub a little oil on it first though, keep the skin from sticking to the metal." He turned back round to retrieve the glowing iron and approached Spike slowly. "One for every deed against me? Yes, that will work…"

The small cross found its way to Spike's right hip first, searing the flesh dreadfully. He let out a cry as he felt the silver burning its design into his exposed side. Rollocks removed the piece from his hip, there was no sensation of molten tissue being removed from bone; the oil had done its job.

"I've got quite the collection," Rollocks placed the cross back into the fiery pit, then got out a large ornately carved wooden box and opened it. He took out a pair of lettered irons, B and S. "Your one time lover, I do recall. Buffy Summers?" The two initials joined the cross at the fire side.

Spike flinched at the mention of her name. _This is for her. I'm helping her._ He tried to block out images of her lying on her back, sick, dying, and helpless.

His torturer came toward him again, now bearing both the letters. "This one goes right on top of that non-beating heart of yours."

Both irons hit his left pectoral in unison, scorching their image across his pale chest. They left painful blisters, but not nearly as painful as the thought of never seeing Buffy again. _I'm so sorry…_

Rollocks smiled, "William, I'd like to ask you a question," He turned to place the ironing brand back into the pit of fire, "Does it hurt?" Spike glared at him, his eyelids heavy and tired, "Of course it does. One more, did you get what you wanted after you killed my daughter? Everything go according to plan?" There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes. /It was either that or the flicker of the fire behind him. Spike hung his head, a defeated look on his bruised and swollen face. "No? I'm shocked. That means she died in vain. For no reason, just to die. At her young age, she was due to be married and she was near expecting children. I could have had…Doesn't matter."

He reached into his pocket and dug around for a second or two before pulling out a corkscrew. Spike tried to raise his eyebrows, but the pain of using the muscles in his face was unbearable. _How the hell can I not use the muscles in my bloody face?_ Spike thought to himself before the sharp pain of cool metal twisted just underneath his ribcage. Rollocks had advanced on his too quickly and was now driving the corkscrew into the small triangular space. With a swift twist, it punctured his diaphragm.

"Bloody hell!" The words croaked in his throat, he couldn't scream; the pressure in his chest was building. Rollocks pulled it out, taking chunks of flesh with him before twisting it between his ribs again and again.

Rollocks washed the semi-dried blood from his dainty hands, "I think you may need medical attention." This was an unusual tone, "Let me see if I can help." He held one hand in the air and snapped his fingers. The loud crack echoed across the dim room. One of the previous guards he'd become so well acquainted with came forward. The large bowl sat on a silver tray. Spike could smell the substance, it contents were strong and harsh as they hit his nostrils. _Alcohol, salt, vinegar, and…oh God._ Rollocks smiled, "Clean his wounds."

Spike shook his head, "You know, that's really not necessary!" Spike's words trailed when the holy water mixture hit his chest and back, bubbling on his skin. Smoke rose from the stinging open wounds, "Bloody hell!"

His captor laughed sadistically, "Don't need to worry about infection, do we?" Holy water seeped into every gash on his body, making the pain almost unbearable. It soaked into his pores, scalding him mercilessly. Spike's eyes were watering, threatening to tear up while he clenched his jaw, _I prefer Glory._ He thought. Rollocks frowned, "You aren't quitting just yet are you?" Spike shook his head.

"No…keep going." The desperate cries for help stayed enclosed in the vampire's subconscious. He would stay here for an eternity if he had to. Better yet, he'd be willing.

"Brave ones aren't merely…as satisfactory in maiming." Rollocks smiled, "Of course, you know that." Spike slid a glare in his direction, "Always preying on the weak and never facing those rivaling your own standards, except for Slayers, but even though you're a vampire, you have a strange habit of falling in love with them."

"Shut your gob!" Spike fought the restraints, the leather cutting into his wrists, "You don't have a bloody clue about me and you certainly don't know a damn thing about her!"

Rollocks raised his dark eyebrows. "I beg to differ, William."

"Spike." He growled.

"What?"

"It's Spike, you git."

Rollocks chuckled to himself and cracked a whip he had gotten from a nearby table without Spike's noticing, "I know she doesn't love you, _William_." The leather braid hit his chest with sheer clout, drawing blood on contact, "You know why, don't you?"

Spike nodded, his jaw tightly clenched, "I'm a vampire."

Rollocks shook his head and hit him once again, reopening a cauterized wound, "Wrong," Crack, "but you love her." Crack, Rollocks held the whip and stared at the ground, "She used you…tell me. Was it good?"

Spike's insides contracted into an outraged knot. He morphed into game face and snarled. Rollocks grinned, "I bet it was. That Slayer, her strength, stamina, _endurance_. I'm guessing she made your eyes roll back when she came…" The vampire pulled with all of his strength left in him, but couldn't break free of the restraints, "The feel of her hot, tight--"

"Sir?" A low voice asked from behind them.

Rollocks growled, "What!"

"The person you requested has arrived. He has brought all of the supplies."

"I'll call _you_ when I'm ready! Do _not_ interrupt me when I am in the middle of business!" Rollocks pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I get to the important questions and always _interruptions_!" With a nod, the guards left, leaving the two men alone, "Where were we? Oh, yes. Your Slayer." Rollocks frowned, "She doesn't care about you, William. You mean nothing to her, just a convenient cock to ride when she got hot and bothered!" Crack.

Spike's face was downcast, "I know." His voice was barely audible in the cavernous room.

"Of course," Rollocks clicked his tongue. "She can't love you without your soul." Spike lifted his head and it hit the back of the wheel, "The _soul_ is a complicated term isn't it, William?" Crack, "Pay attention!" Spike's eyes shot open instantly and found the man, "Do you mind if I call her Buffy? Doesn't matter, I'm going to anyways. Buffy thinks that the _soul_ makes you the good person. A soul is a label, William. It does not matter if you have one or _not_, you choose your path. You have come so far, too! Fighting the good fight and eliminating evil, dropping the human blood scene, romancing the Slayer! Buffy doesn't look at it that way, does she? She sees the blood lust, the stalking her, and oh, the chip, all good assumptions for a bint like her. She doesn't notice what you do for her, what you go through for her well-being." Crack, "Trying to earn her love," Crack, "But you never do, do you?" Crack.

Spike's head fell forward, his body slowly slouching, "Stop!" Rollocks stopped in mid-whip, stumbling back, shocked by the outburst, "Please, stop." The pleading tone in his voice touched Rollocks enough. Crack.

One Hour Later

"How's your cheek?" Rollocks held his bullwhip against the deep gash in Spike's face.

"Fine."

"Please, have a seat," He motioned for Spike's removal from the wheel.

The released vamp fell flat on his face then wearily got to his feet. Rollocks' cohorts grabbed him and forced him to _the chair_. He tried to keep his forearms free from the restraints on the armrests, but the opposition prevailed. They strapped his wrists, holding his hands down on the gruesome spikes. He let out a yell and tried to pull back.

"Not strong enough, are you?" Rollocks laughed, "Lost a lot of blood and you haven't fed in days."

He stopped his struggle and allowed the metal points to sink further into his palms. _That's it: enjoy the pain. It's all for her, because you love her._ An image of a happy Buffy painted itself in his mind. _She needs me to do this._

Rollocks blew out the lone candle illuminating the room and left, leaving Spike to his pained thoughts.

Two Weeks Later

"What's all this then?" Spike tried to shake the haziness from his head, but found that it would not move. He remained trapped to the table on which he lay across, spread.

"I'm so glad that you decided to rejoin us, William," Rollocks lit a candle and approached the restrained vampire, "You blacked out after I had my men clean you up again, thought you'd be off for a while."

There was a large metal funnel suspended just above his forehead with condensation forming at the bottom. A few drops trickled down and fell between his eyes; the iciness of it caused him to blink rapidly.

"Well…" Spike once again tried to clear his head of the dizziness that still engulfed him, "What's with the water, another of your medieval torture devices?"

"As a matter of fact, it was inspired by the Chinese," he smiled and set the candle down beside Spike's bare ribcage, "Makes your head feel like it's going to collapse."

A tremor crept up Spike's back when he felt the heat radiating from the small flame. It illuminated the multiple whip lashes and brand marks that ran up and down his sides and chest.

"I've never tried it before, so this will be an experience to behold," the candle threw strange shadows against the cold gray walls of the dungeon as Rollocks once again picked it up, "Unless of course you're done with these cramped confines and are prepared to face the real world again. Buffy would perish of course, but that's just one less Slayer for you to worry about."

"No!" Spike strained against the chains that held his arms right above his head, "I _need_ to do this… I can't not do it…"

"As you wish, _William_," he turned a knob at the bottom of the funnel, which opened a small butterfly-valve, allowing a droplet of the ice-cold water to drip down onto Spike's forehead.

24 Hours Later

"Argh! My head!" Spike continued to strain against the bondage that held him against the table. Ice water continued to drip onto his face.

"Perhaps this will help get your mind off of it," Rollocks stood up from his chair in the corner of the room, "A gift from an old friend." He held up a few pins that glinted in the wavering candle light. "Used to be an acupuncturist, he said that it works great for torture as well."

"So you're going to poke at me with a couple needles?" Spike tried to scoff through gritted teeth; _he wasn't lying when he said that it makes it feel like your head is going to collapse._

"Not just any needles, these are needles that were enchanted by a voodoo witch doctor, specially made for cruel men, such as myself, back in the old days, _when_ _the streets ran red_," he pricked the instep of Spike's foot lightly, causing the vampire to jerk back unsuccessfully, "Glory days, eh, William _the Bloody_."

"Right, bottom of the feet, lots of pain," Spike almost smiled to himself, _this bloke is right up there with Angelus on the cruelty scale_. _That sick bastard._

Rollocks gave a sharp whistle, calling his hulking guards to his side, "Show Mister Pratt here the meaning of _pain_. He needs something to distract him from the inevitable collapse of his cranium."

The two gristly men cracked their knuckles and took several pins each then walked toward the table menacingly.

"Hey, guys, no need to be hasty here," Spike fought against the urge to shout for Rollocks when he felt the first needle embed itself deep in the soft part of his left foot, "That's tender down there… ow… ow… ow… ow… ow… ow, ow, ow…Ow!"

All that his cries did was encourage the abusers to continue their sport with new found savageness. For every sound that Spike made, a new pin sank further into his foot than the previous.

Two Hours Later

"That's enough, boys," Rollocks waved the hulking figures away from Spike's feet, "How's Mister Pratt doing now?"

Spike refused to answer, afraid that he would cave in if given the chance. _I can't leave… I've got to stay… she's going to get better if I go through with this… she has to…_

"Would you like a last look at your girlfriend, William?" the tormentor unveiled the portable TV screen again, revealing Buffy lying on the hospital bed with Willow seated beside her. The Wicca was holding the Slayer's hand and crying bitterly. "You won't see her for a while. Finally, you get to meet my _'Maiden'_."

Spike stared intently at the screen, forcing himself to remain focused on Buffy's face. _That beautiful face… it's been through more pain than me… but this will fix everything once and for all…_ he ignored the harsh words of his torturer.

Rollocks began unbuckling the leather straps around Spike's ankles, and then unfastened the chains on his wrists. "You'll have to walk, William, my men can't continue to carry you everywhere."

He uneasily edged his way off the table, barely able to move from his loss of blood and the fact that he hadn't eaten in weeks. As soon as his feet hit the cold stone floor, his legs collapsed beneath him, leaving him as a heap of torn alabaster skin and bone with blood oozing everywhere.

"Get up!" Rollocks shouted, grabbing his cruel whip from the table beside him, and then cracked it across Spike's shoulder, "I told you to fucking get up!"

Spike grasped the leg of the table and pulled himself to his knees, then unsteadily got to his feet, which remained filled with the cursed needles. His hand held the table in a death grip, for if he were to let go, he'd go right back down on the floor in half a heartbeat. _Half of whose heartbeat? Mine? Buffy's? This tosser's?_ His arm quivered unstably then buckled beneath his weight. He was once again on the floor, at the feet of his single greatest enemy, other than himself.

The whip snaked through the air and struck his shoulder, drawing blood on contact. It receded then returned again and again, until Spike's back appeared layered in freshly drawn crimson. "Now, for the last time, stand up!"

"I… can't… can't stand… t-too… weak…" Spike admitted. His shoulders slumped forward, "please…"

"Please what, William? Be specific," Rollocks cackled viciously, "Please stop, please let her die, please let you go?"

"No… please… keep… going," Spike looked up, a tear fell down his cheek.

"Then stand up!"

"I…c-can't," he shuddered at the fact that he was entirely at the mercy of his captor, "Can't… get… up." His ribcage ached, as did the rest of his mutilated body.

"Just this once," Rollocks motioned for the beastly guards to help Spike up, "Put him in."

Spike felt himself lifted from the floor; he couldn't see his destination through the blood that had seeped into his eyes from his forehead. He found himself set on his feet in what seemed to be a small coffin with something sticking out from the sides. As he leaned forward against the door for support, he felt the cold spikes dig deep into his chest. He held his face clear of the protruding metal, but couldn't keep the rest of his front away from the nails. A cool, sticky liquid trickled down from his torso and every other part of his body that met any portion of the Iron Maiden. He heard Rollocks' deep, cold voice coming from outside the contraption:

"Give him a week."

Then there was nothing.

Four Hundred Years Later and counting…

Rollocks laughed at his desk, picking up a manila folder and opening it in one fluid motion, "Week." The pictures spread across his desk top were all of potential victims. There was a celebrity, Tom Cruise, which was a torture victim if he had ever seen one.

Rollocks checked the clock next to the picture of his deceased wife and daughter, "It's been a long time since that Slayer was healed, or at least it has for William. Maybe I should let him out…or not, there could be torture, whatever…wait…" He looked at the file with his name on it and frowned, "This is not good. Boss isn't going to be happy about this." Rollocks picked up the receiver and speed dialed the main office, "I need to speak to the Immortal…Yes…This is Rollocks…No, not Theodore… Alfred…Yes…Big Al?" Rollocks pulled the phone away from his face to stare at it in disbelief, "Yes, I'll hold."

The Immortal pressed the speaker button on the red phone, "What?" He asked harshly, his Roman accent rolling off in waves, "You still haven't released him yet!" The Immortal pounded the button on the phone and stormed out of the Wolfram and Hart office located in Rome, "Just what I need, seeing _that _one again…" His sentence trailed off as he went to the helipad on the roof.

Rollocks waited at the Iron Maiden, _He is going to kill me…or…_ Rollocks glanced around the room, _Oh, God_.

"Where is he?" The Immortal grimaced. Rollocks spun around to see his employer and the anger written on his face.

Rollocks pointed to the Iron Maiden, "H-here, sir," He stuttered.

The Immortal glared, "How long?"

Rollocks shrugged, "A few days."

"How long here?" The Immortal demanded an answer from the torturer.

"Um, well, you see… down here, the time kind of blurs together… so…"

"I asked you _how long_…" The Immortal stared him down harshly; he left no room for movement in the broad chamber, "Answer me!"

Nothing came from inside the Iron Maiden. _Great,_ Rollocks flinched when he heard the lack of sound. _He's definitely going to kill me…_

"Let him out," The Immortal demanded.

Rollocks quickly obeyed, fearing for his life if he didn't. The Iron Maiden door swung open slowly, allowing Spike to lean forward. Blood covered nearly every square inch of his body and his hair was matted and dull scarlet, "Immortal, sir, I don't think…"

The Immortal glared at him, "How long has he been here, Alfred?"

Rollocks cringed at the use of his first name, "Well, exactly sixty-seven days…up there."

"Up…he's been here for over four hundred years!" The Roman was outraged, "Just dump him back in that hole in the ground. Slayer's bound to find him there."

Rollocks nodded obediently and moved towards Spike. He was in definite trouble because The Immortal was seriously brassed off about the vampire being held in the hell dimension one hundred years longer than intended, "Yes, sir," Spike was stuck to the Iron Maiden. Rollocks grimaced at the sight of the skin healed around the device was ripped from it's fragile body. _Spike now, is it?_ Rollocks tried to remember what the vampire's surname was. Spike fell forward, "Immortal, sir, if I may, William, he's not dead… is he? I figure that he'd be happy to get out of this hell hole." Rollocks grabbed him underneath the arms and tried to move him, which was surprisingly easy.

The Immortal folded his arms across his chest, "Has he been fed?"

Rollocks shook his head, "No, sir."

The Immortal shifted his jaw, "Alfred, if the Slayer finds you, I'm going to watch you die and rejoice from the pain you are dealt Do you understand?" The cold tone in his voice unnerved him. "You made this about revenge. I am going to guess Miss Summers is planning her own just about now."

"Sir, I am very sorry. I had forgotten about him after…" Rollocks shut his mouth. That was a lie if he had ever heard one.

"After?" The Immortal chuckled, "After what?"

_Time to lie my arse off_. "I was given specific instruction to return Mr. Pratt's conscience." Rollocks held the vampire without effort.

"What?" a dark storm formed in his eyes, "Spike has a soul?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Rollocks nodded, "Y-yes sir."

The Immortal glared, "Get him back… then meet me in my office."

A knot tightened in Rollocks' gut, "Of course, sir." The Immortal turned away, leaving Spike and Rollocks alone. Rollocks glance at Spike nervously, "You," he hissed, "Wake up!" There was no answer. There was no movement. There was just a corpse like being in his arms.

Buffy sighed, "I'm going to head to bed. I'm doing much better now," she stood from the couch and smiled at Willow, Tara, Xander, and Dawn.

Willow grinned, "Okay." Her friends remained extremely supportive of her since Spike's departure. His going missing was the worst two months of her entire life. Everyday without him was a new form of torture. She would stumble into a new problem or a different situation in which she would yearn for him to hold her.

The Slayer walked upstairs, _but he's not coming back_. This was the only thought that she had for the past two months. Her room was dark when she opened the door. After leaving the hospital, Buffy stopped by his crypt, hoping to find Spike. Instead, she took the duster that Spike left behind. It scared her when she saw blood on the concrete. Something had happened to him. Spike wouldn't just leave his coat, he'd yelled at Dawn for putting it on a wire hanger! Buffy had searched everywhere until the realization that the vampire was either dead or staying away from her had sunken in. She did not blame him the least, she had hurt him in more ways imaginably possible and did not remember caring.

She walked through her doorway and sat uneasily at the edge of the bed. Buffy slowly stood back up and approached the closet door at long last. She turned the knob with hesitance and the rush of smoke, whiskey, and leather hit her nose suddenly. There it was. The only thing she had that reminded her of him. Her dainty fingers touched the collar, removing it from the _plastic_ hanger, holding it against her chest. _Gone._

Buffy made her way back to her bed with Spike's duster still in her arms. Sitting on the edge, she felt the tears starting to rise as she draped the heavy material over her arms and lay down. Uncontrollable sobs raked through her petite body, going unheard throughout the house as she thought of the coat's owner.

Buffy came down the stairs groggily, still tired from her continued lack of sleep. It was around three o' clock in the morning when she had decided it was time for her to move on and let go of what had gotten a hold on her. "Willow?"

The redhead walked out of the living room, "Yeah, right here."

Buffy kept the duster behind her back, "I'm going to go for a walk. Now that I'm not all deathly ill, I feel…stuffy." Lame excuse and she knew it, but she had to move on.

Buffy unlocked the door and stepped out into the crisp morning.

To Be Continued….

A/N: There is for sure one more chapter after this. If you think you like it and would like to read more, leave a review, tell me what you want, and I will be more than happy to finish this fiction with a big bang! If you don't, I don't have time to waste on something no one is going to read! So, if you please, leave review! Please?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Joss owns it all. I just have them on loan.

Chapter Three

The walk to the cemetery was eerily silent. The town seemed to have died over night. Living in Sunnydale, an observation such as that is not to be overlooked. _Here goes_, she stepped into the dark crypt and immediately thought of him. The times they had spent together…alone, naked, and having loud, obnoxious sex. The familiar smell of whiskey, dirt, and cigarette smoke immediately billowed into her nostrils, almost drowning her with misery. God, how she missed him.

Buffy rounded the comfy chair in the center of the room, placing the duster on the arm of the beaten piece of furniture. The hours they had spent in that chair, him holding her to him as her sweat-soaked body rocked gently above his. The memory struck her hard. _I was horrible to him… and what did he… what's that?_ A soft glow emanated from the bottom of the crypt. _Has someone been here?_ Buffy slowly made her way to the manhole. She leaned forward to peer inside the opening. A candle flickered below, her mind wandered as to who or _what_ could be down there.

Buffy climbed down the ladder and hopped off the last rung, landing silently in an animal-like stance. Her eyes scoped out the base of the crypt, trying to find a sign of something squatting in her ex-lover's home. The dim light allowed her to see only a few feet in front of her, she could feel someone else in the room with her, but wasn't able to see them, or _it_ to be more precise. Buffy walked through the bottom of the crypt, trying her best to see.

She approached a heap of something in the center of the room… _what is that?_ As she neared it, she shuddered at the stark alabaster and crimson against the elaborate Persian rug.

"Spike?" He didn't move. "Spike!" she touched his bruised shoulder, then pulled back, and whimpered at the sight of blood on her fingers. "What happened?" There was still no movement, but she knew he wasn't dead. _There's still a body… thank god…_ she didn't dare to touch him any more; the numerous gashes, slashes, and unnameable wounds filled her with fear and remorse. _What has he done?_ "Stay here, Spike. I'll go get Willow, she'll make it better." Her final motion was to graze her fingers across his palm, which had remained relatively unscathed. As she began to remove her hand, she felt his forefinger twitch ever so slightly. "I missed you," she whispered in his ear. She slowly stood up, casting one final glance at the broken vampire before leaving.

"Willow!" Buffy shouted, running into the house, "Willow!" There was no answer. A note lay on the table next to the door…

_Buffy, _

_Tara, Dawn, and I are out. Be back by six._

"Crapolla."

Buffy slipped into the lower level of the crypt, her heart was racing a thousand miles a minute. _He's really back…_Buffy found him again, this time after lighting the dozens of candles he had around his home. She knelt at his side, a twinge of dread and anger rushed through her. _What happened to you, Spike?_ She touched the side of his face; his jaw was swollen and bruised. He hadn't been healing and the proof was all there.

She leaned back to examine his body. Wherever he had been, it wasn't on vacation. Dark red lesions and lacerations covered his entire body. Bruises and welts decorated miscellaneous parts of him. Buffy moved an inch closer, her heart barely going now. The shock of his condition had finally settled in, leaving a deep feeling of remorse and fear for his well-being.

"Spike," Her hand touched his face. His eyes tightened briefly before returning to their paralyzed state. _Come on, baby, wake up._ Spike refused to regain consciousness. It was as if he was lost to this world, just gone. Buffy glanced around the room in a panic, thinking of what to do. _I have to move him, he's hurt, and the floor can't be helping,_ She bit her bottom lip, debating on whether or not to carry him to the bed.

If she did so, would he feel anything? Buffy didn't have time to argue with herself before her arm went behind his head, the other behind his legs, which were probably broken. _Why not? Everything else looks thrashed,_ Buffy smirked. Bracing herself for the weight…no, she lifted him with ease. She didn't strain a single muscle, nor did she have to use her Slayer strength. He was practically weightless, not a pound to him.

Buffy choked back a sob. Whomever had him was in for the wrath of the Slayer. There was no way in hell she was going to let the monster that took him get away with this! Buffy slowly walked towards the large bed across the crypt's cave, careful not to accidentally hurt him. She felt his ribs through his back, his spine, and the bones in his legs. It was killing her to see him like this. She had thought Glory's torture was monstrous, but this, this was inhumane. It was beyond evil, it was ruthless battery. He was an innocent being- well, maybe not _innocent-_ but he had not done anything wrong. He hadn't done anything to anyone. Again, that Buffy knew of.

Carefully, Buffy laid him on the bed; his head hit the pillow gently. She sat on the edge right next to him. Her hand rested on the only part of his chest that remained unharmed. Buffy's nimble fingers ran against the skin, a tingling feeling made her heart warm with affection. She bent down to kiss his forehead, but found herself pressing her lips softly to his. It was then that she realized what exactly she felt for him. _No, I don't. I can't._

Her heart rate quickened and Buffy pulled away, moving across the room and sitting in the red barber's chair. She raised her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and stared at him. Spike looked like a corpse. His chest did not rise, his eyes did not open, and there was no movement, just a body.

For the next few hours, Buffy sat in the chair and watched him intently. If he moved, she would be there at his side within moments, holding, caressing, telling him how she missed him, but he didn't.

_Rollocks moved in front of the __Iron Maiden__. Spike had long since stopped screaming, for the weakness of his body caused him to fall forward, puncturing his lungs, putting a halt on all noise, "William," Spike's teary, bloodshot eyes opened wearily, "I've got a gift for you. I feel that you have endured so much while staying here and you never received a reward for your cooperation. I assure you that Buffy is well, alive, and if I'm not mistaken, on her way home with her witch friend."_

_Spike wanted to go home._

"_I have given time to myself and thought of the perfect gift. It will bring you misery, despair, and oh, my personal favorite, guilt beyond comparison. It also gives you what you wanted, a chance for her to love you." Rollocks took a step closer, his pearly white teeth shone in the blackness of the chamber. A small flicker made shadows dance across the walls in the distance, "I'm quite sure that you cannot speak, so I will do the speaking for you, Mister Pratt." The older man disappeared._

_When he returned, Spike had closed his eyes, "__William, wake__ up," There was not other choice, but to obey, if he didn't, he might be taken out and tortured further. The solitude he had become so used to appeared more appealing to him. It was quiet and it hurt less when he could sleep. Close his eyes and see her face. The emerald eyes, soft, bronzed skin, silken, honey blonde hair, full pink lips. The face of an angel. One that he would never see again._

"_This is my friend. Call him Mister Shaman," Rollocks stepped out of his sight and a demon creature replaced him. The glowing green eyes outlined by the dead black. Spike heard a whining noise, followed by the sound of several locks opening. The door to the __Iron Maiden__ opened, pulling the nails out of his chest. The skin had healed around the metal rods, ripping when the door opened. He didn't bleed; he had no blood left in him to run._

"_PRIOR TO THIS…YOU WERE PLANNING ON SEEKING ME?" There was no answer, just a look in Spike's eyes, "SOMEWHAT ABOUT THE SLAYER. YOU LOVING THE SLAYER. AN ABOMINATION TO THE DEMON BREED, THE VAMPIRES. YOU WISH TO BE RESTORED TO YOUR FORMER IDENTITY." Again, the look was unmistakable, "VERY WELL. I WILL RETURN YOUR SOUL," The demon's hand hit the center of Spike's torso, a light filling his eyes as he gasped for air. Unable to scream, the pain built inside of him, the pressure building in his chest._

_The demon's hand dropped and he vanished. Spike tried to take in any air he could, but failed._

_Rollocks' laugh hurt far worse. There was something in him that ripped through his gut, flooded his brain, and drowned his consciousness. His soul._

_That was when it started. Rollocks shut the door of the __Iron Maiden__, the nails running into his chest again, opening new wounds. His ribs cracked in several more places as he fell towards the door involuntarily. _

"_Disgusting…"_

"_I was only a boy…"_

"_Please, don't hurt her, sir!"_

"_I have my children…"_

"_Spare me…"_

"_I plead with you…don't do this…"_

"_Look! It's William the Bloody Awful Poet…"_

"_It will only hurt for a moment…"_

Spike's body writhed on the bed. Buffy's eyes snapped up and without a seconds hesitation, she was at his side, leaning over his body. His eyes never opened, but she knew that he was awake. Her hand touched his arm and his entire body stilled. The Slayer then realized that her touch soothed him. _He was having a nightmare,_ Buffy assured herself.

"Spike, I'm here. I'm here, sweetheart, you don't have to be scared anymore. I won't let anything happen to you. Not again," She entwined her fingers with his, pulling them up to her mouth, planting soft kisses on his fingers. Buffy knelt beside the bed, holding their hands to her cheek while whispering words of comfort. Seconds later, Spike's eyes started to move as if in REM. His chest hitched. Buffy became hopeful, silently urging his consciousness to the surface. _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up._

Spike's right eye opened, snapping back shut. Buffy leaned forward, dropping his hand and moving hers to his face. She cradled his jaw, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb, "Spike, come on." She realized that it must have been the light keeping him from opening his eyes only moments before. Quickly, Buffy blew out the candles next to the bed. She returned to her poised position above him and waited for a response. Spike's eyes fluttered open. They were bloodshot and had a nasty coating on the edges. He looked around in a panic, stopping after seeing her. She could see the disbelief in his hurt eyes, the uncertainty of her presence.

She stroked his cheek once more and smiled, the tears filling her eyes, occasionally falling over, "Spike?"

He didn't blink, nor did he move. Spike stared at her for the longest time. Buffy swallowed hard and a light went off in her head, _he's hungry..._ She left him alone for a fraction of a second before turning back, "Spike, listen to me, I'll be back in a few minutes. Do you understand?" She waited for a vocal answer, but received none. She kissed his forehead, feeling his muscles tense from her touch. _Maybe touching him isn't a good idea right now. _Buffy whined when she pulled away. After such a long separation, Buffy wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her days alone with him, trapped in a world of their own, wasting the hours away, filling them with constant love-making, tender kisses, and sweet caresses. Showing him what she couldn't tell him with words.

Buffy climbed the ladder, hopped off the top rung and ran to the refrigerator. She opened the door in a hurry; a magnet flew off the metal door and hit the sarcophagus a few feet away. There were half a dozen packs of blood, but all had started to coagulate. She bit her lip and slammed the door, grabbing the purse she left in the top level.

Buffy ran out of the crypt and through the cemetery. She tried to get to the butcher's shop as fast as she could, but it didn't feel fast enough to her. Purchasing mass amounts of pig's blood, Buffy rushed back to Spike. Upon reaching the crypt, she noticed that the door was open. Worry consumed her. Something could be down there, hurting him, killing him, and he would not be able to stop them. The Slayer ran into the creepy cereal box of death and jumped down the manhole, the brown paper bag of blood still in hand, and landed on the balls of her feet. There was no one but Spike, semi-sitting up in the bed. His back was against the headboard. Buffy let out a small chuckle of relief when she realized she forgot to shut the door behind her.

"Spike, you should be lying down." Buffy strode to the bed and sat on the nightstand beside it. She placed the blood on the floor beneath them and leaned in to touch him. He flinched, obviously terrified of any contact. He eyed her suspiciously until she noticed the pain stricken fear in his eyes and backed away enough to let him relax. Buffy reached down and picked up a bag of the plasma. She looked around her to find something to puncture the plastic with, but found nothing, which meant that she would have to do it the old fashioned way. Closing her eyes, Buffy positioned the bag at her mouth. Her teeth clamped down, breaking the material, letting the blood flow into her mouth.

Quickly, she held it out to Spike who just looked at her strangely as she spit out the foul liquid, ridding her mouth of it's vile taste. Buffy had no choice; the blood was spilling out onto his chest, seeping into the open wounds. She grabbed him by the back of his head, pulling it back, and moved the bag over his mouth.

He hungrily latched onto the bag, his face never changing its human visage. Buffy loosened the forceful hold on his hair, stroking the back of his head as he drank. The results of this small amount of blood didn't show. Usually, small cuts and bruises healed instantly after this amount. She dropped the empty bag on the ground beside the bed, grabbed another, and repeated her previous actions. Spike finished off what she had gotten at the shop and hungered for more. She ended up going back to the butcher's shop.

When she returned, Spike was waiting for her. This time, sitting fully up and facing her as she came down the ladder.

"I thought you were supposed to be lying down!" Buffy snapped. Spike furrowed his brow.

"Are you real?"

Buffy cocked her head, "You're talking…" He looked down at his lap, which was unclothed and uncovered. He could care less. Four hundred years of nudity and you move past the shy phase. She rushed to his side. He struggled to move away from her. He hadn't healed much at all. The swelling had gone down considerably, but that was about it. She could do nothing to help him, if only she could give him some of her str—_Wait, that's it._ Buffy made her way to the bed, sitting on the end. She was far enough away from Spike without causing him any discomfort. _Am I real? What does he mean?_ "Yeah, it's me. Buffy," She touched her chest, "Spike, what happened to you?"

A/N: Give me two days and a bottle of scotch. Thanks for reading. Send me a review! Damn hooligans…


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Oh, oh, oh. Spike is back for good. Buffy is here to help, obviously harboring some tingly feelings from that sexy beast of a vamp.Chapter Four  
Buffy made her way to the bed, sitting on the end. She was far enough away from Spike without causing him any discomfort. _Am I real? What does he mean?_ "Yeah, it's me. Buffy." She touched her chest, "Spike, what happened to you?" 

He opened his mouth as if trying to speak, but he words would not come out. Buffy leaned in and saw that there was a reason for the silence. His tongue had split down the center. Although he had spoken earlier, it had to have taken all of his strength to make the dialogue coherent. If she had not wanted to cry earlier, now was the time. New tears formed in her eyes as she looked away from the injury. 

She scooted closer, holding out her palm as you would a stray dog, trying to get Spike to let her touch him.

All efforts had failed, "Spike," she began, "I know something bad happened to you. I can't help if I don't know what it is." Buffy saw him visibly gulp, wincing from the dryness of his throat. He faced her, wet droplets forming at the edges of his eyes and shook his head. They rolled over his temples as his head leaned back against the head of the bed. 

Buffy sighed and glanced at her watch. _Willow and Dawn should be home by now_, she thought to herself as the tears fell from his scared eyes. She felt everything in her start to rip at the seams. The fabric of her heart was being torn into shreds and there was not a damn thing anyone could do about it, nor herself, "Spike, listen to me, I'm going to get Willow. You need to stay lying down. Rest." He looked back at his lap and gave a weak nod. Spike tried to lay down himself, but could not. It hurt too badly. 

"Let me." Buffy stood up and made her way to his side. Spike tensed at her closeness, and then realized that Buffy was here to help him. She was, in fact, real. She helped him lay back, her touch so soft and compassionate. Unlike her previous touch, which were just cruel and bruising. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and felt the gentle sensation of a kiss on his lips. The azul eyes suddenly opened and found

Buffy intimately close to his face, her green eyes fixed on his as she serparated from his lips. He searched her eyes for a fraction of a second before she stood straight up. 

Spike felt a small warming on his mouth, one that lingered from the Slayer. She had kissed him, really kissed him. Buffy saw the look on his face and fled the crypt, her heart starting back to its racing pace. _I kissed him, really kissed him_. Buffy ran down the empty streets, passing several glowing street lamps. One thought was on her mind and that was Spike. He was tortured and the remnants of her lover left in that musty hellhole. What took him? Where was he all this time? Why Spike? How did he get back? When did he get back? Why is he back? All these questions and more swam through her mind, and undying terror grew in the pit of her stomach. 

Buffy reached the front porch of her home and did not remember what had happened on her way there. She opened the door and heard giggling in the living room, "Willow!" 

The Slayer rounded the corner and saw the red head stand in alert, "Buffy, what's wrong?" 

"Spike. I found him." Buffy tried to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling at a fast pace. 

"What? Where?" 

"In his crypt. I need you to come and see him. Willow, he's hurt." 

(((((((((((((((((((((((((( 

"Where is he?" Willow asked as they entered the crypt. An irksome silence washed over them and Willow shivered. 

"He's in the lower level." The two women slowly made their way to the opening in the floor of Spike's crypt. Willow did not know exactly what was happening and it was making her nervous, "I know that you can hear people's thoughts sometimes." Buffy stopped, putting her hands in her pocked as she looked at

Willow. The Wicca furrowed her brow, not understanding what she was saying. 

"Yeah." 

"Will you read his?" Buffy took a deep breath as she awaited her answer. Willow bit her bottom lip and shook her head. 

"Buffy…I don't know. That's considered dark magic…and I don't trust myself with it." Willow had a sympathetic look in her eyes, one that Buffy had never seen before. 

"O-okay. Tha-at's fine." The Slayer was getting choked up again. A knot developed in her throat as she approached the manhole. Silently, Buffy looked back a Willow, a crushed hope in her eyes. "He's down here." She pointed to the hole and sighed, "C'mon. I have to warn you, though. He's in bad shape and it's well, bad." Willow gave a small smile. 

"We'll help him, Buffy. I promise." Buffy went down first, Willow followed. Buffy took a deep breath and held it in. She still was not used to seeing Spike in such a broken condition, even when she caused it in the past. It broke her heart. Willow stepped around Buffy and started for the bed, she froze.  
A hand went to her mouth to cover a shriek at the sight of the vampire, "Oh, my God. Buffy, what happened? Did you--," Buffy's eyes widened in horror. 

"Me? Why would you think _I_ did it?" 

Willow looked back at her and frowned, "Not all of us were stupid, Buffy. His lame excuses were not very logical. Spike never got hurt like that while patrolling." The Slayer started to tear up again. She was angry that she was turning into a walking water park. 

"I know I hurt him then, but things have changed now. I have to help him, show him that I _do_ care." Buffy sniffed and walked closer to the bad where the vampire lay. 

Willow tagged along and stopped at Spike's side. Buffy chose to sit in the chair she had moved to the foot of the bed to keep a better and _closer_ eye on him, "I don't think a human did this to him." 

"What makes you say that?" 

Willow pointed to him, "Something with a soul couldn't do this, Buffy." 

_If he'd of stayed with me any longer, he would have_, Buffy cynically thought to herself. Willow sat on the edge of the bed and swallowed hard as her hand neared his chest, "What can we do?" 

Willow shrugged, "I don't think there is anything we can do. It's…I think that I really should try." Buffy's head jerked forward and eyed the witch as her finger traced a large burn on his chest just over where his heart was, "BS?" 

Buffy's eyes widened in realization of the initials. She had seen them earlier, but did not know what they stood for. Now, she knew exactly what it meant, "Buffy Summers. I doubt they put _bullshit_ on his chest." Willow turned around and frowned. 

"Why would they—oh." The redhead bit her bottom lip and quickly pulled her hand away, "Buffy…I'll do it. His thoughts. I'll read them if you promise not to hold it against me if I start to fall apart." Buffy was silent for a beat before she nodded. 

"I won't. I promise. I just need to know what happened to him, Willow." _I love him_.A/N: Hope you liked it. Because Thanksgiving break was a bust and I really didn't have any inspiration to get the ball rollin'. Maybe next chapter will be better. Leave a review…bitches. lol.


	5. Chapter 5

Willow raised an eyebrow at her previous thought, "What was that, Buffy?"  
The Slayer frowned, "Huh?" It struck her like a ten-pound brick hitting her directly on the forehead, "Did you already start?" Willow nodded with a smug smile on her face.

"When did this happen?" She asked softly, sincere warmth in her voice.

Buffy shrugged, "A little before I found out he was gone. I was building the courage to tell him," She laughed to herself, "Doubt he wants to hear about it right now, huh?"

Willow shook her head and frowned, "No, Buffy. Spike…I'm sure that he would love to hear that you have feelings for him. That's all he wanted before he went MIA."

Buffy sighed and knitted her brow, "He did? I mean, I know he did, but…right before…he couldn't have…not after everything that…"

Willow moved closer to her friend in desperate need of comfort and placed a hand softly on her forearm, "He came to see me."

"W-when?" A knot, well, the knot that had been coming and going through out the night decided to come back had started to grow again.

Buffy sniffed, trying to hold back her tears, and straightened her back, "About what?"

Willow bit her bottom lip, "You can't say anything. He asked to keep it a secret, Buffy. No one but you, he, and I can know about this. Understand?" Buffy nodded as Willow took a seat on the edge of Spike's elegant canopy bed, which was not too elegant as of late, due to the several grenades that went off when Riley visited. Her heart rate pitched and she could feel the 'bad friend' and 'unspeakable confidante' alarm firing off in her mind. She removed her hand from Buffy's arm and sharply inhaled, "He came to see me just a few hours after Riley left, Buffy. I wasn't too sure on the why…but he told me it was something about not being able to take the agony of being in love with you."

If there stood any more heartstrings inside of Buffy, that last sentence got a sterling knife and sliced through every one of them in a jagged, unmarked path. The tears were gone, she didn't know why, because if there ever was a reason to cry, this was it, "Agony?" The word was barely a hoarse whisper.

Willow swallowed hard, "Buffy, look, it had nothing to do with real pain…it was metaphorical." Trying to explain that to Buffy seemed to be useless given the circumstances of Spike and Buffy's relationship last winter. There were all sorts of agony. Literal _and_ metaphorical,

"He wanted me to…" Willow hung her head.

Buffy leaned in and almost screamed at her, "What? What did he want you to do, Willow?"

Her soft eyes met hers and the evidence of oncoming tears shone, "Get rid of them…his feelings…he wanted them gone."

Buffy moved back to her recent sitting stance and folded her hands in her lap, "Oh." Her head was swimming with thoughts, but there was only one that she could think to dictate, "Did you?"

Willow tilted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "Did I what?"

Buffy stood up, "Get rid of them?"

Willow quickly shook her head, "No! God, no. That's not my place. Someone's feelings are not any one else's business. They belong to them and only them. Even if I were able to do anything about it...I wouldn't have."

Buffy smiled, but a rustling from behind her made her head spin to Spike, "Spike," He was starting to move restlessly on the bed, his head turning from side to side, as if he were trying to shake something away, "Spike, it's okay." Buffy scooted to the spot directly next to him and scarcely touched his wounded chest. All movement ceased and the room went dead silent.

"Buffy?" Willow whispered, her eyes still comprehending what had happened.

Buffy sighed in relief and removed her hand. She turned to Willow, "I think that--," From beside her, a hand captured her wrist. Buffy jumped and yanked it away, hearing a loud pop as she did so. Before she could do anything else, the Slayer realized that it was Spike who grabbed her and the pained groans were from the dislocation of his shoulder, "Shit! Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Spike, I'm sorry. I didn't know that…shit. Willow, hurry." The Wicca stumbled over the empty bags of blood next to the bed, her eyes falling to see them all scattered. There had to have been at least fifty already emptied and only a select few hadn't been drained.

"Buffy, did he drink all these?" She questioned.

Buffy laughed dryly, "Nope, sometimes I get a little parched…" She rolled her eyes as she continued to examine Spike's shoulder, "Yes, he drank them."

Willow bent down to pick one up, "All of them?" Buffy nodded urgently, "Buffy, have they helped?"

Buffy turned her head away from Spike and got a sinking feeling in her stomach, "Not at all. He's malnourished, injured…nothing is going to help. I don't think he'll be coming back from this."

Willow frowned; she could feel crow's feet developing already…not to mention the frown lines. In all her years of tagging along with the Slayer, there was one thing that she always knew no matter what the situation…the Slayer was strong. Every fiber, molecule…and _blood cell_ had a dose of the kick ass mojo the Scoobie gang grew to respect and depend on. If there was ever a thing to help this thrashed, beaten down vampire…it was Buffy, "Listen, I know this idea may sound far fetched, but I think it'll work."

Buffy was stroking Spike's bruised and swollen cheekbone, his eyes were opened staring at her as if she was a monster, "Anything! What is it?"

Willow sighed and licked her bottom lip, "Well, this," She held the bag of pig's blood higher, "Well, it isn't working the way we need it and I know what might."

"Tell me…please." Buffy almost begged.

"Your blood…Spike might heal faster if it's your blood he's taking in. You're stron-'," Before Willow could finish, Buffy was off the bed and behind the charred bar. The witch could hear rustling, a glass break, and the unmistakable slicing noise of a knife coming out of its case, "Buffy…are you sure that you want to do this?"

Buffy raised from behind the bar, a set look of determination on her face, "Willow, I love him. I'd do anything. Absolutely anything to get him better."

Willow gave a polite nod as Buffy made her way back towards the bed, "Alright…we could fix his arm before you do this."

Buffy smiled, "Okay. Let's do that."

"Well, I won't because…ew, but you have all the fun in the world poppin' that puppy back in. I'll wait right here…away from _that_ and where I can't hear any…bodily noises."

Buffy chuckled despite the situation and hurried to the bed. She placed the knife gently on the edge of the bed and leaned in to Spike,

"Spike?" He was awake still, his blue eyes finding hers immediately. He was so used to having to turn in attention to his name that it wasn't even voluntary anymore. Buffy held his shoulder with one hand while the other rested on his chest, pushing him down to the bed.

Spike's eyes began to water, for he knew what was about to happen.

Buffy screwed her eyes shut and popped his shoulder back into its socket. He whimpered before closing his own eyes. The pain was real, the smell was real, and my God, Buffy's touch was real. It had the effect on him that nothing else in this world did. Butterflies started stampeding in his stomach, a tingling buzz formed on his scalp, and the other side effect need not be said. Buffy whispered his name forcing him to look at her. There was a desperate glimmer in her twinkling eyes that allured him to look deeper. She was sad…worried over something…him.  
_  
She cares._ _She does.  
_  
Spike's head jerked painfully towards Willow whom was standing on the opposite side of the crypt's cave. _How?  
_  
Willow smiled. _Witch remember? I need to know what happened to you, Spike. Where you were, what for…  
_  
Spike swallowed hard, wincing from the soreness of his throat. _I can't._

_Spike, we have to know. Buffy has to know._ The urgent tone Willow took made Spike's insides turn.  
_  
Why?  
_  
There was a long moment of silence before anyone thought anything. _She loves you, Spike.  
_  
Spike turned away, not believing anything she was saying. _Stop. I've been tortured enough. Just leave it._ Willow furrowed her brow.

Buffy leaned closer, she was merely an inch away from his face, "Spike, you're going to have to drink from me."

Willow could sense a change in mood. Spike was angry when she spoke to him…now he was panicking, _Spike, what's wrong?_

_No! I won't.  
_  
Buffy backed up and grabbed the knife. She hesitated, pressing the knife on her milky forearm, "You'll be better in a minute.  
_  
Red, tell her to bloody stop…please. Stop!  
_  
Strangled cries echoed from his throat as he tried to tell her to stop. With a single sigh, Buffy drug the blade down her arm, a thin line of blood formed. The crimson grew wider and darker as she lowered it to his mouth. He clamped it shut, his teeth biting his lips closed. Willow stepped forward, "Buffy, don't." The smell alone was enough to drive him mad. It had been almost five centuries since he'd even smelled fresh, warm...

The Slayer turned to her, "What?"

"Spike, he doesn't want to."

"What do you mean, _he doesn't want to_? He has to. It's the only way."

"You don't know that." Willow argued. She glanced at Spike whom had tears shining at the edges, "Buffy, he said that he won't."  
Buffy tightened her jaw, "He has to."  
A/N: Leave a review. Sorry for the short chapter. I'm working on a longer chapter 6. I haven't gotten lots of time on the computer lately. I'll try to get at least one chapter out per month. That's the best I can do with my current situation. I beg of you to forgive me! lol.  
Thank you.

Kara


	6. Chapter 6

The Trial Chapter Six

"He has to." Buffy sighed, placing a hand behind Spike's limp head. Spike's eyes were wide with fright. He knew what would be happening next if he didn't try and fight it. He stiffened his neck, trying to rebel against her hold on him. Buffy immediately noticed, a feeling of shock flooding her senses, "Spike, don't fight this. I want you to get better. I _need_ you to get better. Please."

Spike swallowed hard, the sensitivity of his throat making him wince, _Tell her I'll do it._

Willow nodded, "Buffy, he said he'll do it." The Slayer was silent, and confused for a brief second before her arm found his dry lips. The warm blood trickled into his mouth as she lifted his head upward. This had to be the single most pleasurable moment of his entire existence which didn't include the past four hundred years because there was nothing pleasurable about that in the least. He felt sick with himself for doing it, but glad he could experience tasting such an ambrosia. _Are you okay?_ Willow asked.

Spike didn't answer, his gaze was fixed permanently on the Slayer as his mouth encircled a section of the wound. His tongue slid delicately over the cut, lapping at the blood. Buffy felt a shiver travel down her spine as the process continued. Her pulse quickened, making it evident to Spike that she was more than excited.

"Willow? Am I supposed to feel...ah...um...like this?" Buffy asked curiously. a soft moan escaping her mouth. Willow was no expert, but the look on her face was more than enough evidence to have her assume what was happening.

"I'm pretty sure that...um...what's happening is perfectly normal. Vampirism is a, well, very erotic experience." The red head explained. Buffy nodded and looked at Spike whom was engrossed in her taste. She stared into his blue eyes, such passion was embedded in them.

Buffy frowned when she noticed how gentle and caring Spike was being. Angel was never that tender when he had fed off her. He was animal like and had almost killed her. In fact, he'd put her in the hospital. Spike on the other hand seemed to be the opposite and the worst that could happen would be her needing a band-aid when it was all over. It made her wonder. _They're not all the same..._

Like a brick falling from the Empire State Building, Buffy realized that Spike wasn't like Angel at all...in any way...other than the bumpy in the forehead region and that maybe, just maybe he was right all along. "They can love without a soul."

"What?" Willow questioned her random outburst.

"Willow, he was right." Buffy whispered.

"Who? Spike?" Willow was still confused and the random tid bits she was receiving from the Slayer seemed to make it all the worse.

"He was right."

A/N: Okay, maybe not that long of a chapter after all. Believe me. I have a month to write for each chapter. I'm going to be giving you the equivalent of a novel with each post from now on. Please tell me what you think of the story so far. I love the past reviews. And I'm sorry for the time confusion in the earlier chapters. They were meant to be random and I guess I did my job. haha. I'd like some more reviews. It's the only thing that gets me to sleep at night:)


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